


I close my eyes and see you before me

by PlurmpDankensteinMcFlurnten



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, maybe lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28811334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlurmpDankensteinMcFlurnten/pseuds/PlurmpDankensteinMcFlurnten
Summary: Ohh I don't want, anybody elseWhen I think about you, I touch myself
Relationships: Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik/Sonic the Hedgehog
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	I close my eyes and see you before me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Coming to Terms](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28483647) by Anonymous. 



> :3c i got to reading "coming to terms" again and thought...y'know, there just aint enough fics of eggy enjoying himself out there. Even if i have to drag him kicking and screaming through his attraction to sonic because i say so. tho this fic was more from game canon than boom but still
> 
> he thinks a little rough towards the end but if u cant tell.......i like to headcanon egg is WAY more turned on by the idea of sonic _wanting_ him than anything else because he knows he's hot stuff

Robotnik all but slams the door to his bedroom shut behind him, just an expression of his ever-growing frustration at his continued losses. It wouldn’t be so bad if more of them felt like a fair fight, rather than months of work going down the drain because of one annoying blue rodent. 

At first, of course, there’s the pacing, angrily mumbling curses and threats to an invisible enemy, wishing nothing but misfortune upon him. Once that’s out of him, shortly after, he takes to throwing darts at the portrait of his nemesis on the wall, feeling satisfied when the sharp ends dig into the hedgehog’s face. And then there’s the inevitable call for piles of junk food, although he’s more than aware it doesn’t help his anger in the long term.

However, none of it quells the steadily-growing _other_ frustration in him, one that’s started to flare up with the end of each unsuccessful scheme. Or sometimes right in the midst of it. It makes him feel stupidly young and foolish to recognize it, when by this point he should have been over such things decades ago.

Over the years, it’s become more of a mechanical act than anything else. He just doesn’t have time or interest in chasing sexual pleasure, when his only real goal was to take over the world. Still, he can recognize when he’s pent-up, when it’s twisting and turning in him with nowhere to go, so it looks like he doesn’t have too many options. Of course he can always disregard it, wait for the sensation to pass, but it’s easier and faster to get it out of the way immediately.

He grunts as he sits back on the bed, reaching a hand over and rifling through the drawer in his nightstand for the dusty bottle of lube he keeps, only for the rare (not so rare lately) occasions like this. He works his pants and briefs down just enough to free his cock, then pours some lube out onto his hand before tossing the bottle aside and taking hold of himself.

The pleasure— the physical side of it anyway— shocks through him, but his mind is where the power really comes from. He tries to focus as he steadily pumps his cock, thinking over his options of self-indulgent fantasy.

Of course there was always the option of making someone up; someone who openly admired his genius, was his exact body type (though that was far more facetious), and _didn’t_ ultimately betray him. He starts off with that, trying to conjure up another person. Preferably on the plus side, like himself, blonde or brunette with green eyes and a soft smile. Women were one thing, with their soft curves and warm touch, but men were appealing in their own way too, with a tendency to be more rough and a cocky smirk that he did enjoy, with some frustration from the clashing of his own ego.

Hm. Perhaps a woman this time, then. Pressed up against him, kissing with secret smiles into his neck, nails tracing over his skin, blue and—

No, no no no. He halts his thoughts _right there_ , because he isn’t going down that road again. It wasn’t _happening_. 

Right. 

Fine then, a big, burly man— one who could could wrap arms around him, bite at his shoulder. And Robotnik could dig his fingers into coarse hair, look into those green eyes, watch as a daring smirk crosses his partner’s face before gloved hands run back down his body—

_No!_ Why did the little _rat_ have to plague him at every opportunity? He felt nothing but complete and utter contempt for his nemesis. The mere passing idea of that pest should do nothing but make his rage burn and bring only disgust to his mind. And it did, even now, but…

He resolved he was absolutely _not_ going down that road. He would never chase the thought again. He was going to get his head straightened out, right now. 

It has always been an elicit fantasy of his to be out in the Eggmobile with someone, so he latches onto the idea now, hoping it chases away the unsavory ones he’s trying to avoid. 

He focuses on the imaginary situation, getting his partner— man, woman, or whomever— sprawled across the dashboard, using his height and weight over them. Carding his fingers up their chest, lifting their leg to freely and deliberately grind against them, listening to them gasp and shiver under him. Knowing, seeing in those eyes both determination and the smallest spark of fear; after all, Robotnik could do anything to him, couldn’t he? And here they were, out in the open, free for anyone to see just who really _was_ superior, but his partner would never mind. He wanted this. He was almost scared of how much he wanted this. But it was inevitable, because Sonic understood—

Robotnik stops it right there, groaning and falling back against the sheets. It seemed there really was no helping it this time. And the worst part is, this isn’t even the first time. But something about _Sonic_ stirs a sensation deep in him— somewhere nobody else has ever touched upon. 

Since he’s already spiraling down this path, and his cock is _certainly_ interested, he’s no longer interested in fighting it. Next time, of course, he’d do better. He’d put an end to this nonsense. Just like he’d promised himself last time, and the time before that.

But for now…

He still can’t deny the way his blood _rushes_ at the thought of Sonic pinned in his Eggmobile, or strapped to a table in his lair. Nor how his heart picks up with the idea of Sonic— the thorn (or quill, to be more appropriate) in his side, his lifelong archnemesis, the one who managed to foil every one of his carefully crafted plots— being the one to _want_ this, to cave first, just another weakness Robotnik can exploit endlessly. 

How he’d try to smart back, still bearing that cocky smirk, but _ohh_ , it would fade fast once Robotnik got to work. Sonic was known for his speed, but how would he take to being teased, slowly and deliberately? He’d be frustrated, whining, squirming in place but unable to do anything about it, but all along so _desperately_ wanting to give in, to _beg_. 

And Robotnik would gladly drag it out of him, get him to a point where any thought to oppose him was gone, to be replaced with a _need_ for his touch. He pumps his own cock faster, breathing picking up.

He wants to watch those eyes, so bright and open and cocky, slowly change to open desire before him. He’d start with those ears, rubbing them gently before pinching harshly, Sonic cursing him on instinct but still getting aroused from the shock of pain. And those quills; difficult to grab or do much with, but he has tough gloves. That or...well, a few punctures in his hand weren’t horrible to live with, provided he could freely yank on a quill, watch and listen as Sonic cries out but doesn’t fight it. All the way down to those legs...legs that kept Sonic moving, gave him the power to oppose Robotnik. But not now, not when he is free to grab and move them as he likes, get his cock between furry blue thighs, with Sonic gasping and squeezing around him. And Chaos, sliding between them, feeling Sonic’s smaller cock rub against his, watching as his own slides along Sonic’s stomach, emphasizing just how much he was going to take—

And he _would_. Robotnik would snatch and lift that little tail, and Sonic might yelp but only in surprise, and he’d just _thrust_ in, and Sonic would fit so _perfect_ around him like he was made for it, like he was made to be used, by him, for him, all _his_ …

Robotnik finally comes, feeling bone-deep satisfaction curl through him as he does. Unfortunately, his afterglow is short-lived when reality settles back in, bringing with it the grim knowledge that this would, inevitably, happen again the next time he faced Sonic. But so what if his personal feelings for his nemesis were...well, a bit muddled and complicated? It wasn’t like he let them interfere with his professional side. And besides, there wouldn’t be a next time. He has total control over his emotions.

He’s sure he has a handle on it. He’s confident about it. 

**Author's Note:**

> if i do need more tags/change the rating just let me know
> 
> maybe one day i'll actually write something nice for eggman


End file.
